


◌escape◌

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst angst angst angst angst, Arguing, Caregiver Missteps, Destructive Behaviors, Disrespected boundaries, Distress, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Charged Halted Foreplay, Established Relationship, Home Invasion, Insomnia, Kinktober, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Older Man/Younger Man, Whumptober, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26846746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: After their apartment gets vandalized, Gil spends hours looking for Bright. What follows is a series of emotionally-charged missteps that leaves them needing to have some tough conversations.Whumptober: On the Run + Failed Escape + Kinktober: Thigh Riding
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	◌escape◌

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober + Kinktober = this experiment. I have a handful of different Kinktober prompt lists and the Whumptober prompt list, so I'm going to cross them over as much as I can. Today's came from [Kinktober](https://lustyargonianmaid.tumblr.com/post/627757371721220096/time-to-start-planning-kinktober-fandom-works) and [Whumptober](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated).

“If you want to run from the city, you probably should go further than the Ritz,” Gil says, sitting across from Malcolm in a powder-gray velvet chair in the lobby.

Malcolm covers his eyes with one hand, his face forlorn. “I didn’t mean to go without telling you.” His voice shakes. “I had to get out of there. I’m sorry.”

Malcolm already getting harassed in the media following an exposé on his lineage, their apartment had turned into the site of a home invasion, photographs of The Surgeon’s murders plastering every surface Gil saw upon entrance. The kid had sprinted in ahead of them, and by the time Gil, Dani, and JT got inside, they couldn’t find him. Gil searched every room, even the hiding spot in the back of the closet, the tub, and the roof the kid went to when he panicked, but he was nowhere in sight. It left Gil torn between his troubled husband and the team, and he was damned no matter what decision he made. As he thinks back on it, he’s grateful that JT made the decision for him and pushed him out the door to go after his husband.

“Is Sunshine okay?” Malcolm asks, interrupting Gil’s thoughts.

“She’s fine. Dani took her to Ainsley's.”

“She’ll be scared.”

As much as Gil knows his feathered friend is priority number one, he can't help but think the kid is projecting his feelings. His whole body is curled inward, primed to defend against any advance like a frightened scorpion ready to strike. As much as his instinct is to comfort him with his touch, he can't. "She’s a tough girl. You can go and see her if you want.”

“I can’t.” Malcolm's head shakes, and his eyes remain covered.

“The scene is secure — only property damage,” Gil shares. ‘Only’ seems a strange statement when he’s talking about their home, but at least they weren’t there when it happened. At least the kid wasn’t home alone. At least… Gil scrubs his eyes, refusing to deal with his own worry of worst-case scenarios when he has his husband to look after. When he _finally_ has his husband in front of him again. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“I can’t.”

“Just up to your room or something?” Somewhere that isn't a very public lobby where anything can spook him at any time.

“I didn’t get one.”

“I can get us one.” Gil leans forward as if getting closer to him could tip the negotiation in his favor.

Malcolm hugs his knees to his chest. “I don’t feel safe.”

No shit. The only way Gil can fathom the kid got out of their apartment building without them seeing was scrambling across the roofs and down one of the nearby fire escapes. Fight or flight, adrenaline taking him on a wild journey around the city. Still, it’s a different thing entirely hearing the words come out of his mouth. “Your mom brought you and Ainsley here after your dad.” It wasn’t the first place Gil had looked, but it had eventually proved fruitful. Thankfully, the kid hadn't hopped a train and disappeared entirely — lord knows what Gil would have done then. “Would you feel safer somewhere else?”

“No.” A tiny admission that's barely audible.

“Stay here a minute. I’m going to get us a room.”

Gil heads to the front desk, keeping a lookout for the kid from the corner of his eye. It's a straightforward transaction, a tiny tink of pennies in the bucket as far as Milton money is concerned. He zones out while the clerk explains the amenities and accepts the keycards.

He walks back to his husband and crouches beside him. Malcolm looks unbelievably small in the chair, body wrestling with demons Gil can't see. “Can I touch your shoulder?”

Malcolm nods. “I—I need a hug.”

Gil pulls him into his chest over the arm of the chair, and Malcolm sobs into his shoulder. Malcolm is still in the same dark gray suit he wore to work that morning, yet it's far more wrinkled under Gil's fingers as they trace along his back in an attempt to soothe. “Oh, kid.”

Where did he go in the five hours they’d been apart? Had he gone straight to the hotel? Had he wandered first? The virtual invasion of their privacy had been taking its toll, both of them avoiding the media entirely, but the physical extension into their home was too much. Unkempt and weary, Malcolm looks shattered — Gil feels the same cracks spidering through his insides.

As the tears subside to shakes, a tentative voice asks into Gil's sweater, "Can we go?”

“Upstairs, c’mon,” Gil says into his hair.

Gil leads him to the elevator, where Malcolm nuzzles his neck and they trade several kisses on the solitary ride. The slow walk to their room comes with a supportive arm around the kid's back. As soon as he opens the door, they’re greeted with a view of Central Park. It’s the amenity most guests seek and pay at least a thousand dollars a night for, but Gil’s only interest is in talking to his husband and giving him whatever he needs to de-stress.

Malcolm stands in the middle of the room where Gil stopped, unfocused on anything like he’s lost. His hand shakes, but Gil doesn't take it, knowing the kid prefers the tremor to be ignored. Silence says he doesn't want to talk, yet Gil has a harder time fighting that urge — his stomach aches with worry over his husband's state of mind, and if he lets himself think about it, his muscles are exhausted from running all over the city. "Do you want to lay down?” Gil asks, and Malcolm shakes his head. The kid pops up on tiptoe and they share a number of open-mouthed kisses, arms winding around each other. Gil pulls away for air and offers, “There’s a sunken tub.”

Malcolm nods. A trail of clothes fall on the way to the bathroom, and Gil follows, drawing the bath for him. Gil sits on the ledge of the tub while it fills, and Malcolm lowers himself onto his thigh.

Gil looks up in surprise at his naked husband, who kisses his neck and grinds into his pants. He kisses him back and caresses his cheek. “Bright,” he warns as Malcolm continues rocking, getting hard against him. “This isn’t a good idea. This isn't what I meant."

“Just to take the edge off.” Malcolm rests his head on Gil's shoulder.

Gil presses several kisses to his neck, squeezes his ass, and holds him out to arm’s length. "Let me get you into the tub.”

“I’m gonna sleep in there.” Malcolm points to a bottle of pills he landed on the counter. Where they came from, Gil isn't sure — the kid always refuses a sleep aid.

“You can go to bed.”

Malcolm shakes his head and grinds into Gil again.

Gil isn’t opposed to the contact, but he’s worried about Malcolm’s state of mind and where it will lead. They haven’t even talked about what happened. “Bright, pause a minute.” Gil stills Malcolm’s hips, his balls sitting on Gil’s pants-covered thigh, his firm cock hovering parallel.

Malcolm springs out of his lap, back turned to him halfway across the room. His muscles are tense like he's primed to run again. “What did I do? What did I do?” he asks in exasperation, pulling at his hair.

Gil fights to keep his tone level, to avoid reacting to his husband’s stress. “I shouldn't have sex with you when you're this upset. Can we — “

"Then I need the bathroom,” Bright returns despondently.

With a stern frown, Gil looks at his husband's back, the hand that can only be resting beside his cock, the pills on the counter.

"Go!" Malcolm orders.

In a hasty decision, Gil takes the pill bottle with him and retreats to the bedroom.

A shout of "You can’t even trust me!?" echoes through the closed door.

* * *

Gil toes off his shoes and lays on the bed with a sigh. Slipping on his glasses and holding the bottle in front of his face, he recognizes a prescription for a sleeping pill with Dr. Le Deux's name listed as the prescriber. It was filled that day, but Malcolm could've had the script for a while and refused to use it. He doubted that Malcolm would've run to her office in his state given his reluctance in the past, yet he couldn’t be sure. Tipping the bottle, he counts every pill inside and sets it on the nightstand when the count matches — they're all still there. He curses himself for taking them, considers that maybe he read the situation wrong when confronted with many inputs — maybe he made things worse.

He attempts to ignore what's happening on the other side of the door. Nothing is audible over the running water, but he knows his husband is jacking off, hastily fisting for a climax to flood himself with neurochemicals. A grasp at logic, out of place as it seems, that the day has been sorely lacking. A jump that Gil wasn’t prepared for when he thought about helping him de-stress. Something he wanted to talk about so it didn't become something they'd regret.

There isn't a drug that can take away the fact that their private space was invaded, defiled with grotesque photos and red paint-splattered messages designed to evoke terror. Gil's fists clench with outrage that someone figured out where they live and dared to inflict this pain on them. They don't need it — it's not fair to put Malcolm through any more.

The door opens a crack.

Gil stands and collects the bottle from the nightstand. Dilly-dallying, he folds all of the clothes that Malcolm discarded and sets them on the bench at the end of the bed. The rushing water shuts off by the time he makes it to the door and knocks.

"Come in."

The kid is in the tub, chin sitting on the water line with his eyes closed. There's a ridiculous amount of bubble clouds around him and the air exudes lilac — he must have found bubblebath somewhere in the vanity and added the whole bottle. Gil sets the pills on the counter.

"I'll take one."

Gil fishes a tablet out for him and half-fills a glass with water. He gives both to the kid and is quickly handed back the glass.

"Join me."

" _Kid_ — "

"To talk." Malcolm opens his eyes and looks up at him, and all Gil can see is pain and exhaustion wrinkling underneath them. His puppy-dog eyes have their usual effect, and Gil gives in, quickly stripping and lowering himself into the tub across from Malcolm, taking the kid's feet into his lap to massage them.

"You can't treat my medicine like that — it's not okay,” Malcolm says firmly, his brow pinched in consternation.

"Whatever _that_ was." Gil gestures at his middle hidden beneath the water. “We talk about it first. I’m not opposed to sex, Bright, but we talk about it if one of us is this upset.”

“You can’t make decisions for me,” Malcolm adds, Gil seeing one eye glaring at him through the bubble clouds.

Yes, Gil knows better, though the kid is also prone to making shit decisions when he’s stressed, even made a few in the past half hour. He understands the complaint, but he’s not in the best headspace to consider what he could have done instead. What he could do the next time. “I was overly cautious,” he admits.

“Overbearing.”

“You’re not exactly exhibiting the most stable behaviors right now,” Gil points out, a little agitated, then reels his tone back in. “I was trying to help you relax.” He bats away bubbles that drift toward his face to take out his frustration.

“That was relaxing!” The kids hands pop up out of the water and splash through the surface again.

“For you, maybe. We agreed, Bright — no sex when we’re not on the same page.”

“I stopped as soon as you asked.”

“Angrily.”

“You’re mad I humped your leg?” Malcolm sits up, his chest coming out of the water, his legs pulling away from Gil.

“No. I’m upset you pushed me away when I paused to check in, as we’ve agreed for _years_. That’s not okay.”

“Gil — “

“Yes, I fucked up,” Gil’s concern creeps in again and rolls through his words. “I spent _hours_ not knowing if you were safe. You’re not acting like yourself. Yes, I’m worried.”

“You’re angry.”

“At the situation, yes.”

Malcolm looks away, and Gil watches all of the frown lines return to his face. “I’m not okay right now,” he admits. “I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a time this week, and now — “

The words sit between them, bubble clouds rocking on the surface of the water. It’s like their conversation will end there, disintegrating in the stillness, making the water tepid.

After several minutes, Gil’s hands drift to Malcolm’s calf and massage the tense muscles. “Could we talk about it?” he asks tentatively. “I paused because I wanted to talk.”

Malcolm looks at his lap. "You’ll be angry with me.”

“How about I judge that? Just talk to me."

"I have a flight out in the morning.” Malcolm flicks a foamy cloud with his finger.

It’s not a shock. It’s more surprising the kid didn’t take it already. Thank goodness. “To?"

"Montréal.” Malcolm runs a wet hand through his hair, slicking it back. “Disappear awhile."

Gil chuckles at the absurdity. ”They have news in Canada, Bright."

Malcolm shrugs and gives a sideways half-smile. “It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"To get away? Probably." Much as Gil isn’t thrilled with the methods the kid has taken all day, he doesn’t disagree with the sentiment.

"Can you come with me?"

The request sounds far more unsure than Gil is comfortable with. All the kid needs to do is ask. “If we're going on the run, we're doing it together," Gil jokes. "Of course."

Malcolm spins himself around in the tub and leans against Gil's chest. Gil kisses the top of his head and wraps his arms around him. “Your muscles are tight,” Malcolm says, kneading Gil’s thigh.

“Must’ve walked five miles today.” But it doesn’t matter. Gil would’ve walked further if he had to.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being scared. It’s okay to be scared.” Gil runs his fingers back and forth along Malcolm’s forearm.

“I’m sorry for not considering your needs with mine. For not talking. I’ve been doing that all day.” Malcolm lets out a nervous chuckle. “I made it here by the time I remembered you're the only way I feel safe. Then I fucked that up, too.“

Gil hugs him tighter, presses kisses into his hair. ”It's gonna be okay, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

"But Montréal," Malcolm corrects. Gil collects a cloud of bubbles and smushes them into the side of the kid’s face.

"Together."

"I'm still angry," Malcolm pouts.

“So am I. Suggestion to continue this conversation after we’ve gotten some sleep? There's a lot to talk about — it’s not something we can fix tonight.” Gil rubs Malcolm’s stomach.

“Agreed.” Malcolm yawns.

“How long ’til you become Sleeping Beauty?” Gil nuzzles below his husband’s ear.

“Probably a half hour or so. Let’s stay in here ’til the water gets cold.”

“If you get — “ Gil starts, but then changes course as his thoughts catch up to their earlier conversation. “Please let me know if you get drowsy first, ‘cause it’ll be hard to get you out of here and to bed.”

“Could leave me in here.”

“ _Bright_ — “

“I’m teasing.” The kid’s shoulders jiggle against his chest as he chuckles.

Gil lands another cloud of bubbles in the middle of his husband’s forehead. He gets a handful whacked into his ear in return. “I didn’t know you were so fond of bubblebath.”

“It happened.”

“I feel like you need a bubble crown, or a mustache, or — “

Malcolm squirms to get away, but Gil doesn’t let him go. Malcolm sweeps up a tower of bubbles in his hand. “I _will_ get you, Gil.”

“I don’t care.”

Malcolm reaches behind him and plops the foam into Gil’s hair, water running down his face.

Gil tickles Malcolm’s side. “Do you like that?” he teases, laughing. He buries his head into the kid’s neck and transfers a bunch of suds to his hair.

“Un — “ Malcolm laughs, water splashing around them. “ _Uncle_.”

Gil smoothes the bubbles out of Malcolm’s hair and clears his own. In a tub full of pillowy clouds, they settle back into the cloak of their bath time escape.

They have a lot to talk about in the morning.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is M, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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